I Miss Them
by Storybrooke-Writes
Summary: When he wakes up in a battlefield with almost no memory of what happened, what tragedy awaits him? It's vague, but by the end you'll know who I'm talking about.


When I come to, I look around me. My vision is fuzzy; I can't even make out the horizon that splits the dull grey ground with the cloudy sky. All around are muffled noises of bombs, cannons, gunshots, what have you. I finally realize what happened to me, and at that moment, a terrible headache spilts my head open.  
I'm at war. I can't remember who with, but at the moment, I know my allies are old friends of mine. I scan the battleground for familiar faces. None. The only people I can see are dead soldiers of mine. All mine. None of the enemies' soldiers took their last breath here.  
I growl, understanding with limited memory and evidence that I'm losing, or have already lost, this battle. Painful as it is, I stand up, only to fall down again. My left leg is drenched in blood, my blood. Is this how I passed out?  
No matter. I quickly grab the supplies I had in my pack and dress the wound. I'll have to get to a hospital to properly take care of it, but that will come later.  
I stand back up, eyes forever searching the piles of bodies for survivors. Sometimes they'll be wounded and left for dead, but really they're alive, waiting for help or get up to search for some.  
It doesn't happen that often, but I've found a few surviving soldiers in previous battles and escorted them to hospitals, saving their life. They never get to find out who I am, though. They never can. I must be kept a secret.  
So I start walking. With each step I remember more and more of what took place in the previous day. It was a raid. Enemy planes came out of nowhere and began to bomb us. When they had enough of that, they crawled out of their haven and began shooting us down. We fought back as much as we could, and eventually shooed them off, but it was a phyrric victory. I've now lost most of my men.  
I catch glimpses of feats of bravery, one soldier threw himself in front of me to catch the bullet meant for me, one ran into the line of fire to try shooting back, one led a few soldiers to safety, only to be shot himself. These were brave men who put themselves on the line for others, and will never be remembered for it. A tear runs down my cheek.  
I walk along the muddy path, passing bloodied and mangled corpses of men sporting the same flag as me. I don't think I ever bothered to learn their name. I thought I didn't need to, since I would just surpass them eventually. But now, I feel bad, because at least knowing their names would give them a chance to let their bravery be heard.  
I walk along the muddy path, passing bloodied and mangled corpses of other soldiers, too. Their uniforms are similar, but the flag on their chest is not mine. Did we kill some of our enemies after all?  
Then it hits me. These soldiers are out allies. Men of a good friend of mine, who accompanied me when we were attacked. He's here, somewhere in this field of bodies.  
Panicked, I begin to call out his name. His real name, not his fake name he uses when he comes in contact with normal people. I don't really care anymore if anybody hears me, I want to find him and make sure he's okay. He has to be alive. There's no way he couldn't be.  
Finally, I come to the edge of the muddy road, right next to the hidden path within the trees. There he is, lying still, pointing into the forest. Was he the soldier leading others to safety?  
He has a deep bullet wound in his shoulder, stained dark red that contrasts with the color of his uniform. Other than that, he looks as if he could be sleeping.  
I grab his arms, careful not to touch his wound, and shake him, repeating his name in hopes that he would wake up. He feels warm, almost feverish, but at least that tells me he's still alive.  
I call out his name again and again, louder with each. I'm growing more desperate. He may not die, but he call always fall into comatose. I wouldn't be able to see him for a while, and with a war going on, that scares me to death.  
I'm on the verge of tears when his eyes slowly flutter open. He looks up at me, and smiles.  
"Is that you...?" He asks me cheefully. Happy that he's okay, I allow the tears to spill.  
"Huh? You're crying..." He points out.  
I nod. "I'm just relieved your okay," I whisper. He smiles for a moment, then cringes, clutching his shoulder.  
I gasp. "Oh my god, does your shoulder hurt that much? I should take you to a hospital," I suggest. He nods in agreement.  
"Please do. It really hurts," he whimpers. So, I picked him up, carrying him bridal style like I always did, and limped to the nearest hospital I could find.

He died the next day in the hospital. At first I was paralyzed in shock when the doctor called me and told me his health was failing and that he wouldn't live, but I summoned up my strength and courage to visit him. Maybe I could stay with him until his last breath.  
As soon as I saw him lying in the hospital bed, I began to cry. His wound was wrapped in bandages, but it bled through, leaving an ugly red stain in what was suposed to be pure white bandages. He had grown much paler than yesterday, which because he had lost so much blood, the doctors later explained to me.  
He could barely keep his eyes open, but upon seeing me, his eyes snapped open and they filled with glee, dull as they were.  
He motioned for me to come closer. "I'm glad you could come," he rasped. He couldn't bring his voice to be any louder than that.  
"You're voice," I mentioned. "It's much quieter than I'm used to... It's always so loud."  
He giggled. "So maybe the last thing I can do is at least obey your orders and lower my voice?" Upon hearing those words, I came back to the reason I was here; he was dying.  
I stood up, anger overflowing. "Don't you dare say that! Do you think I want that now, now when my best friend is dying and there's nothing I can do about it?!" He flinched, watching me lose my temper and tears spill out unbeknownst to me.  
He sniffed. "I'm sorry..."  
I sat back down and brought my voice to an anguished hush. "Why? Why are you dying? Aren't you not supposed to die?"  
He took a newspaper from the small wooden table beside him and showed the front cover to me. I took it into my hands and read it aloud, much to my dismay.  
"THE COUNTRY OF ITALY CAPTURED: NO LONGER ITALY?"  
I look up. He's crying, too. "I'm sorry. But I don't have anything to bear down on anymore. I can die like a human now, just as your brother did.  
Painful thoughts of my brother's dissolving come flooding back to me. I miss him. I miss his goofy smile, his loud obnoxious voice, even that bird who always perched on his shoulders. It was the most painful thing, having to lose my only brother, and now I'm losing my best friend, too. Just the thought is unbearable.  
I look up. Tears run down his cheeks just like mine. "I'm scared," he says. "I don't want to die." Trying to calm him down, I stand up and kiss his forehead. It seems to keep him from making a scene about it, but it doesn't change anything.  
It didn't prevent his death, either. He died shortly after he calmed down, and I left immediately. Rage, loss, pain, anything terrible, consumed me, and now I had no one to turn to.  
I quickly won the war after that, using my rage as a weapon against my enemies, but I had no one to celebrate my victory with.  
To this day, I live in a small house, miles from any city. I have business to attend to in a few short minutes, but now I have no one to distract me, annoy me, anything.  
I miss them.


End file.
